


A Light Reflected

by colazitron



Series: 2017 December Holiday Fic Countdown [12]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Somewhat, space chanukah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 02:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12997848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: After the Battle of Yavin, Leia feels the effects of her loss.





	A Light Reflected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aimmyarrowshigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** I am in no way affiliated with the characters depicted herein or their creators. I made all of this up in my head and am sharing it for fun.

It takes a few weeks for calm to fully settle over Yavin IV, but when it does, it brings with it a sort of emptiness that settles in Leia. She hadn't noticed it so much before, when there was a battle to wage and then the scattered Rebellion to organise and festivities to conduct. Now the Death Star is destroyed, they're all but entirely moved to Hoth, and the festivities, though she understands their importance for morale and unity and all those things, have been over for a good while.

Now there's nothing left to hide that gaping wound the annihilation of her home ripped into her chest. Nothing to try and stuff in the place where Alderaan should be.

One day Leia wakes up and looks outside at the gigantic Massassi trees and the high green canopy is no longer beautiful, just digs deeper into the hurt in her heart. The sounds and smells of the Yavinese jungle that comforted her yesterday make her turn her face away until even the empty wall of her sleeping quarters becomes blurry and the odd hooting and chirping of fauna she hasn't bothered to learn the name of fades back into an unnoticeable white noise. She can't quite get rid of that rich, strangely sweet earth smell that seems to permeate the air here.

No matter. Let it permeate her too, then. She has room now.

Vaguely, Leia thinks there was something she was supposed to be doing today, but she can't for the life of her remember what it was, or even put any real effort into trying. In any case she hasn't moved from her bed yet, and everyone knows where that is, so if someone were trying to find her, then they wouldn't have to look for long. She might as well stay here until someone does, or maybe until hunger drives her from her bed. There's still a tray of fruit on the small table though, so she supposes it wouldn't drive her very far.

The second time Leia wakes, the shadows in her room have moved a good deal, so she must have spent quite some time asleep. She's not used to the Yavinese days yet, so she doesn't know how many standard units they last exactly, but she thinks it's not far off from –

The thought of her home falls into the pit in her chest and though it feels endless, that void, there must be something there for this memory to echo there the way it does. Ringing in her ears so quietly. Fragile and just out of reach. Almost like a dream. Like if she'll try to focus on it too hard, she'll forget all about it.

When she blinks, her lashes come away wet. In the end, it's only because of the way the wetness gets cold and tacky on her face that she wipes it off.

A good cry might help, but this doesn't feel like crying. It feels like what Leia's been doing – lying in bed and not moving.

The shadows on her wall move a little more, and the fruit on the table doesn't really want to make her get up, but she knows it really should. There should be hunger in her belly, but all the room inside has been taken up by that hollow void, and food can't fill it. Still, in a little bit she'll get up and nibble on something at least. She has to. People won't let her waste the day away for much longer.

The moment the thought passes, there's a knock on her door, and Leia closes her eyes against it, suddenly angry. Maybe if she stays quiet--

But, no. The door opens like whoever knocked is careful not to wake her, should she sleep, and Leia turns her head to see who it is without thought.

Luke's face brightens with a small smile that Leia would vaguely like to return, but can't find the energy to.

“Hello,” Luke says. “Are you feeling alright? You've been running yourself ragged, so when you didn't show earlier I told everyone to let you sleep, but I wanted to come check on you.”

There's a spark in the pit, suddenly, when he says this. Who is Luke Skywalker to tell people when to wake her? Who is he to dictate how her day goes?

“Don't do that again,” she says, voice harder than she feels.

Luke startles, wide eyes a little wounded.

“Sorry,” he says, and hesitates in her doorway.

Leia sighs and sits up, the action suddenly so easy where it seemed so impossible before.

“What do you want? I'm fine, as you can see.”

“Sorry,” he says again. “I heard someone say-- but it's nothing. I don't want to bother you.”

Contrary to his words, he steps into her room, setting a few things down on her little table before making his way back over to the door. Leia looks at what he brought her – some lumps she can't quite make out, and a few candles – and another drop echoes in the void, this one more sharply.

_The Festival of Lights._

“I just thought you could explain something to me, but I'll come back some other time,” Luke says quietly, and suddenly Leia's crying after all.

Everything is a mess, and she wants nothing more than for her mother to brush her hair and tell her a story that's really veiled advice, aimed at letting Leia figure it out herself. She wants nothing more than her father's arms holding her close and telling her how her courage and strength are brighter gems than any royal jewel.

Instead there is only Luke, a boy she only just met, in the grand scheme of things. But in the grand scheme of things that hardly seems to matter. So Leia lets him sit on her bed beside her and pull her into his arms. She buries her face in her hands and then in his chest  and cries and cries and cries. He puts his hand on her hair and that makes her cry harder, but then he takes it away and it's almost worse. No matter what, it only seems to make her shake and gasp for air, until he starts to hum, the melody so unfamiliar it almost demands she listen.

She forgets to cry over it, after a while, but judging by the damp on his shirt, it's a good long while. She's not sure she feels better, now, actually. She doesn't feel worse either though, so that's something, she supposes.

“What did you want to ask?” she asks him, voice hoarse.

“Antilles said that today was the beginning of a festival on your home planet. I was wondering if you'd explain it to me?”

“It's a festival of light,” Leia says. “Of light that lasts longer than anyone thinks it could, and shines bright enough to reach the farthest reaches of the galaxy.”

“Sounds appropriate,” Luke says.

Leia snorts.

“Appropriate? Alderaan and all its people are dead. There won't be more than a handful scattered over the whole galaxy. My people and their festivals are gone.”

“But the light isn't,” Luke says. “You carry it inside you. So do all the other Alderaanians. And if you want, I'll carry it for you as well.”

Leia looks up at him, her eyes wide.

“Why?”

Luke looks at her and shrugs.

“Because the galaxy could use some light,” he says. “We need something to show us the way.”

Leia doesn't ask what way he's talking about, knows he means  _the_ way. The ultimate way to a galaxy free of the Empire and of its darkness. Ha.

“Also, I was told there was fried food at this festival? I couldn't find anything from Alderaan, but Antilles gave me this purple thing they eat here. They fry it too, so I thought it might count,” Luke says, smiling at Leia in a way that's clearly hoping for a laugh, or at least a smile back.

All Leia manages is not to frown.

“Would you like some?” Luke asks, and gets up to fetch the things he put on her table earlier. There is indeed something fried and purple, and candles.

“Will you do the honours?” Luke asks, handing her one of the purple things, but also the lighter. The weight of each feels heavier in her hands than it by rights should, but when she lights the candle it seems to burn brighter than any candle she's ever seen.

She sets down the lighter, and Luke takes her hand. That, somehow, feels right.

Maybe, together, they can keep the light burning.

  


** The End **


End file.
